


I Promised I'd Find You (Or You Would Find Me)

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU-slavery, Also Stiles is a BAMF, Derek is Not a Failwolf, Derek is hella awesome, Escape from slavery, Evil Argents, Except for Ally bc awesome, Gerard is a fucking creep, M/M, Mates, On the Run, Slaver Argents, Slavery, Werewolf Argents
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-18
Updated: 2015-12-13
Packaged: 2018-02-13 15:53:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2156385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being a slave is all Stiles knows, or what all that the Argents want him to know. All that he can remember is working day and night for people that didn't deserve it. Still, he feels like someting is missing, because when he closes his eyes, he can almost see a big house in the middle of the woods and hear a voice he knows better than his own whispering things Stiles yearns to understand. </p><p>Stiles decides he's going to find that voice if it's the last thing he does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Never Be Afraid to Jump

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first published fanfiction here, and my first Sterek fanfiction ever! It is unbeta'd, so any and all mistakes are mine. I really hope you enjoy it and please comment telling me what you think! 
> 
> Enjoy!

Stiles heard the whip before he felt it, the sudden pain almost making him drop. He hated the days Kate was overseeing the slaves. Chris may have been stronger than his sister, but he would only whip them for serious wrong-doings instead of minor mistakes. Kate was fond of whipping every slave at least once a day, and she would use any excuse to do it. Stiles had already been whipped three times, and he knew that if he fell he’d only be whipped again, and harder, so he kept moving, head down and basket of tomatoes clutched to his chest. He heard Kate’s irritated _harrumph_ behind him, and he thanked every deity he could think of that even Kate couldn’t whip a slave just because she wanted to. Stiles watched Kate strut away out of the corner of his eye, the disappointment on her face evaporating when another slave dropped two onions in front of her. Stiles turned his head away and walked faster when he heard the whip snap.

When Stiles arrived at the boxing station with his basket of tomatoes, Scott McCall was waiting for him, a box almost full of tomatoes at his side. “There you are,” Scott exclaimed, “I thought you were the one Kate was whipping.” Both boys wincing as the crack cut through the air again, followed by a pained yell. Scott, having asthma and his mother being the family nurse, had never felt the whip before in his life, seeing as he worked at the boxing station where Chris and Kate never ventured, and could only imagine the sharp, searing pain. “Doesn’t she whip you more when you react?”

Stiles nodded in response, “Kate’ll get bored if you just keep a straight face. She likes to get a reaction out of her torture.”

“Who likes to get a reaction out of what?” Stiles felt his stomach drop out before Allison appeared from behind a stack of boxes. She laughed quietly at the look on his deathly pale face, “I was only kidding, Stiles.”

Stiles gaped like a fish, letting out the breath he didn’t know he was holding. “Oh my god, Ally, you scared me half to death! Do you realize what would have happened to me if she had heard me say that?” Stiles flashbacked briefly to the ghostly faces of people who had come back from the Argent’s “punishment room”, and the people that came back were the lucky ones.

A frown began to overtake Allison’s face, “I’m sorry, Stiles. I didn’t mean to frighten you. I thought it was funny.”

“It’s alright, Ally. Those kinds of things just aren’t very funny to slaves,” Scott cut in, his usual puppy-like self able to calm Stiles and Allison easily. “Besides, today is a day to celebrate! Right, Stiles?”

Stiles lit up at the mention of the day’s significance. He had been planning the day of months, years even. “I’ve been waiting for this day since the moment I came here.” The dreams, the way he felt like this wasn’t what he had done all his life, eleven years of living in the hell of the Argent plantation, it was all going to end. It had taken three months to slowly save up enough food to last Scott and Stiles for the trip to California, but it was all worth it. With luck and the lessening of the Argent’s power thanks to the new moon, Stiles and Scott would be free men.

* * *

The night was dark, incredibly so. The moon was hiding, and with it, the Argent’s wolves. Stiles had researched and planned for this night, reveling in the fact that turned wolves lost the ability to shift every new moon. Allison had confirmed it as fact a few weeks before, a watery smile on her face as she realized Scott would be leaving with Stiles when he used the Argent’s “greatest strength” against them.

“New moons are every turned wolf’s worst enemy. We can’t shift, all our senses are dumbed down; it’s like being human again,” Allison said bitterly, even someone who never liked to shift still hated new moons, losing the ability to connect with her wolf a sore subject.

Now she was holding Scott tightly, the two of them whispering words of love at the edge of the tree line while Stiles made his way into the forest. He had already said his goodbyes to her and had left to give the pair privacy before they never saw each other again.

Then he heard the howl. The howl of a wolf that realized slaves were missing and it was _close._ Stiles hadn’t even considered the hourly bunk checks in his escape plan, the idea of a night where the werewolves weren’t wolves so appealing that he ignored all practicalities. He was moving before he heard Scott and Allison’s cries. Blood pounding in his ears as he realized his plan was falling apart and he wasn’t going to see Scott ever again. _Scott was still at the tree line where he would be caught_. The thought made him stop and scream for his best friend. If Scott ran hard enough he could still make it. Allison, of course, was a step ahead of him.

“I’ll cover for Scott,” Allison called, “just keep running!”

Stiles ran as if the hell was on his heels, and for the most part, it was. The Argent’s were only a few footfalls behind him, but he kept running. If they caught him they would kill him, or worse, they wouldn’t. His brain was running faster than his feet, looking for any way to get a little bit farther ahead of his pursuers.

Chris was trying to persuade him to stop, promising to go easier on him if he turned himself in. Stiles had promptly decided they were taking him back in a coffin or not at all. Freedom was at his fingertips, and they were going to have to pry liberty from his cold, dead hands. Stiles yelled it too, running harder as his motivation renewed itself.

Kate was taunting him, “You were born a slave, why try and run from what you were born to do? It’s all you know, Stilinski!” Things he’d been told since he was small, that he’d been born a slave. Being a slave was all he thought he knew, but there was a nagging itch in his head telling him he knew much more than that. The blood rushing in his veins overtook Kate’s voice until all he could hear was the internal scream to keep running, to never stop running until he found what he was looking for.

He listened to that voice until he came to the rapids. The water moved so fast you’d be under before you even realized you were dying. You’d be lucky if you even realized you were dying before you slammed into one of the thousands of rocks jutting out of the water. Jumping into the rapids was nearly as lethal as swallowing arsenic, and Stiles was already diving in. Kate was screaming at Chris to not let him jump, that their father would be infuriated if they lost the slave. Stiles was already downstream by the time Chris moved to grab him.

“Dammit, Chris! Dad’ll have our heads if we don’t get him back! Jump in after him,” Kate screeched at her brother. Gerard’s fury if they returned without Stilinski was worth getting a little wet.

Chris whirled around to face his sister, “You jump in! Those rapids kill everyone that jumps in. Stilinski is probably already dead.” He looked out to where the slave’s head was bobbing downstream, the current carrying him into too many rocks too count. He wiped a hand over his face, dread filling his stomach, “We’re in so much fucking trouble.” 

* * *

 Stiles decided if he got to pick which way he died; it would most certainly not be by drowning. Water was rushing into his mouth as he failed to keep his head up. He narrowly missed the rocks while he gasped and panted for air, glancing off of one now and again. He felt a lot like a ragdoll, being tossed around by the rapids. Still, he thought he could survive this if he just stayed clear of the rocks. That was when he hit one, then another, and another. Stiles started going under a lot more often as he continued to hit rock after rock, and he lost the energy to kick himself back up as the pain wore him down. The pain wasn’t the needle-sharp burn of the whip, but a dull, throbbing ache that exhausted him faster than whippings ever did. The darkness of unconsciousness ate at the edges of his vision until he just closed his eyes and relaxed. He was about to let himself go under when he hit another rock, and miraculously stayed there.

The rushing water held him to the flat expanse against his back and he managed to blearily blink himself back to consciousness. The rock was nestled against the shore, and Stiles wearily threw an arm out to the dirt and mud, grateful for solid ground. Hour may have passed as Stiles slowly grew the strength to pull himself inch by inch up onto the shore, pushing himself off the rock when just his legs were left in the water.

Stiles laid in the grass for a long time, staring up at the moonless sky. He waited for Chris or Kate to appear above him and laugh at the fact that he thought he could escape. They never came, and Stiles allowed himself to laugh, tears of happiness running down his cheeks as he realized that, at least for a little while, he was free.


	2. A Song Someone Sings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to everyone who left a Kudos or commented or Bookmarked or subscribed! It means a lot to me that people are taking an interest in this. I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint!

_Stiles awakens to the softest pillow he’s ever felt in his life. If it weren’t for the pillow moving, it would be the best pillow too. He reaches out with small, chubby hands to grasp at his pillow, murmuring tiredly when he it just moves more._

_“Go back to sleep, Stiles,” it grumbles, “It’s too early to be awake. C’mere, you always sleep better when you’re closer.” Stiles snuggles closer when an arm wraps itself around him and tugs him closer. He blinks sleepily at green/hazel/brown/Stiles is too tired to decide eyes and breaks into a grin that stretches across his whole face. “You’re such a lunatic,” the voice continues but Stiles can’t decipher what it’s saying._

_Stiles closes his eyes and curls into the warmth next to him, mumbling nonsense until he falls asleep again._

* * *

 

The sun in Stiles’ eyes nearly blinded him when he woke up, groaning loudly and hurrying to cover his eyes with his hands. For a moment, he wondered how long he’d been asleep, but pushed the thought out of his mind. Making sure he could still walk after the beating he took from the river was much more relevant. He was bruised to all hell, and so sore he could cry, but Stiles could still miraculously walk.

He had no idea if the Argents were still chasing him or if they had decided the rapids would kill him and given up. The fear that Kate would step out from the tree-line with a sinister smile gripped him tight enough that he walked along the river, ready to leap back in if any of the Argents appeared.

It was evening by the time Stiles decided he wasn’t being chased (actively). Relief washed through him before he realized he had no real idea where he was. He knew that the Argent plantation was in the northern half of California, but California was a big state, and he didn’t know where in California he was trying to find. Hell, he didn’t even know if where he was going was _in_ California. For the first time in a very long time, Stiles felt utterly hopeless.

Still, he wasn’t one to quit, so he kept walking until the moon was high in the sky and it was too dark to see where he was going. He’d almost fallen into the river three times during the day. Stiles decided early on to not test his luck at night. He had to admit that the sky was beautiful out in the middle of bum fuck nowhere. The plantation made too much light to see any of the stars at night.

Stiles lay down next to the river, ignoring his stomach’s growls. He had left the sack full of food in the forest when he first heard the howl, and even though it was likely he would have lost it in the river, he really would’ve loved some food. He shook off the hunger and tried to think, tried to remember. He knew that somewhere deep down that there was somewhere he had to go to. Someone he was desperately trying to find.

A big brick house with tons of people, he could remember it if he tried hard enough, but he could only remember that it was on a preserve. He screwed his eyes up tight until he saw a man with his skin and hair and woman that Stiles couldn’t help but think looked a lot like him. They would drift away whenever he reached out to them, disappearing along with everything else.

He screamed in frustration, wanting more than just flashes of things he doesn’t remember. The only thing that had ever stuck with him was that he could never get warm enough at night, his dreams always having a body like a furnace next to him. If lay still after he woke, he could almost remember what the body looked like. Tonight he felt colder than ever. Ever so slowly, he felt himself fall asleep, brain buzzing until its own tiredness forces it to rest.

* * *

  _The crash of thunder wakes Stiles up. He knows he’s not supposed to go to Derek, he’s being punished for running off without telling anyone where he was going, but he hates storms! He slips out of bed, careful to be as quiet as possible. Sneaking across the floor is hard, especially when the thunder keeps making him jump, but he manages to get to the door without anyone coming to check on him._

_Getting the door open is another matter entirely. It takes him four thunder claps to get it open, and by then the wind is howling and there’s something scratching against his window and he knows it not just a branch like Mommy says. Tears are welling up and once the door cracks open enough for him to slip through he takes off like a shot._

_Derek’s room is right next to his, and Stiles bursts through the door without a care of waking anyone up. He’s scared and there’s something outside his window and he wants Derek to make it all better. Derek is already sitting up when Stiles bursts in and he looks angry until he smells the salt in Stiles’ tears._

_“C’mere, Stiles, I’ve got you,” Derek already has his arms out, ready to pull Stiles up and into his bed when the little kid runs at him. “It’s just a storm, you know that.” Derek tucks Stiles under the covers with him, knowing they’ll both be in trouble in the morning but it’s Stiles, and Derek can’t say “no” to Stiles. “Was it the branch again?” Derek gently rubs a hand up and down Stiles’ back when he nods into Derek’s chest._

_“‘m sorry, D’rek. I know ‘m not ‘posed to be in here but I got scared.” Stiles hiccups when he cries, rubbing his face into Derek’s shirt in lieu of a tissue._

_Derek shushes him, fully ready to take all the blame when they are inevitably caught in the morning. Stiles was so small and scared, how was Derek supposed to turn him away when his mate was so upset. “It’s okay,” he mumbles, refusing to comment on just how gross Stiles was making his shirt, “just go back to sleep. Nothin’s gonna hurt you while I’m here. That’s a promise.”_

* * *

 

Stiles groggily opens his eyes, calling out softly for Derek until he’s too tired to continue. Part of him makes the connection that he finally had a name to go with the memories. He wakes up instantaneously then, feet already moving in the early morning light. He had a name! He had _Derek_! Somewhere out there, there was someone named Derek that knew him. He could find a city, a library; he would search for hours until he found the Derek with the brick house.

Stiles could-no. Stiles _would_ find this Derek person. His mind raced with an elation he couldn’t quite place. Wherever this Derek was, Stiles knew that was where he was heading.

* * *

 

 Derek Hale sat up in bed, heart pounding wildly. For the first time since he was ten, he could feel Stiles. He snatched his phone off the bedside table, dialing before he really knew what he was doing, “ _Stiles is alive._ ”


	3. Finding You Finding Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The age difference between Stiles and Derek is only 4 years here. Also, sorry I took so long to update! I started school and things have been hectic.

Stiles hid in alleys and backstreets, having followed the rest of the river to a small town twenty miles south of the Argent plantation. Being in towns was dangerous for free humans, let alone escaped slaves. He was almost certain the river had cleaned most of the Argent scent off of him, but the chance a were’ would smell him and raise an alarm was too much of a risk to take. The few people Stiles had run into in the alleys were almost humans, but they refused to give him any information about a library.

One girl, a werecoyote, had nearly bitten him when he asked, saying he was a liability to all those in hiding. “If you get caught, they’ll just work even harder to find the rest of us! Stay hidden, find something to eat, and don’t go near the wolves. They’re only loyal to their own kind. They won’t help you, no matter what they say otherwise.”

Stiles scoffed at her, “And you will help me?”

“Not on your life,” the girl, Malia, replied, “I’ve got my own things to worry about. Your little adventure means nothing to me. I just don’t want you getting the rest of us caught.” Malia flashed her eyes at him and laughed, “I’ll be finding your dead body before long, won’t I? If you’re stupid enough to leave the alleys, you’re stupid enough to die. Have a nice life, idiot.” Stiles glared at her back when she walked away, deciding she was just paranoid.

Still, Malia had survived on the streets her entire life. She was also the reason he was still alive. She’d found him shivering and starving in one of the backstreets, and threw him half a sandwich she’s stolen, saying he reminded her of someone she knew a long time ago. Then she’d stayed with him for two days, until she felt confident he could take care of himself. That was before he’d told her his story and asked for directions to the library.  Now, he was confident that if the wolves didn’t kill him if he got caught, she would.

Stiles had never been one to let those kinds of things get him down, and he kept moving. There was a library somewhere in the town; he just had to find it. 

* * *

 

Find the library he did. It was gargantuan, something he wouldn’t have thought a small town would have. Stiles stood in front of the library, jaw slack and eyes wide, for what seemed like a decade. Fear and determination fought in his gut until he heard a conversation going on behind him that made his blood run cold.

“Really? _They_ are looking for someone? Around the Argent plantation?”

“Yeah, apparently a slave escaped and they say he’s-” the speaker’s voice went too quiet for him to hear for a moment, “So there’s a whole search party out looking.”

Stiles nearly puked. All his hard work, all of his planning, it was all for nothing. He still had time before the Argent’s caught up to him, and they would drag him back in casket or they wouldn’t take him back at all. The new burst of determination drove him forward, and he pushed open the doors to the library.

It was the most perfect place Stiles could remember seeing. Row upon rows of books stacked as high as the ceiling, and he wanted to read them all. The Argent library was smaller than this, and any slave that dared to touch the books was whipped into unconsciousness. Stiles would know, almost every scar on his back was because of those books. These, these books he could read. Stiles darted to the nearest shelf but stopped himself. He was here to find Derek.

He instead walked up to the front desk to ask to see the werewolf registry. The librarian was human, and while he cast Stiles an odd glance, he pointed him towards a line of computers in the back. “Type in a name in the first or last name sections or search a specific area to find a specific werewolf. Each werewolf has a picture attached to their file.” Stiles thanked him happily and made his way to the back.

The werewolf registry pulled up in a few seconds, and he typed _Derek_ into the first name slot, hoping that was how it was spelled. It took a minute to load up the matches, there were over six hundred Derek’s in the US alone. Stiles resisted the urge to cry. Who had enough time to look through each file to find what their house looked like, if they even had a picture of their house on file? Stiles noticed a small checkbox in the corner that read _View Pictures and Names Only_. Stiles remembered what Derek looked like when they were little, but had no real idea as to what he looked like now. He decided it was a good an option as any, and clicked the checkbox and began scrolling.

Stiles scrolled through quickly, the A-G Derek’s not even registering on his radar. Stiles inexplicably slowed down when it came to the H’s. _Derek Hadin, Derek Haggarty, Derek Hale_ , Stiles stopped cold at _Derek Hale_. The picture was old, he could tell that just from looking. It showed a little boy he presumed to be a younger Derek smiling along with…Stiles. Derek was carrying Stiles on his back, both of them waving happily at the camera. Derek looked no more than a year older than in Stiles dream, and Stiles felt his blood run cold. _This_ was who he used to call out for every night, six years old and hiccupping when Scott would wake him up and ask him who Derek was and why he was calling out for him.

_Derek Sebastian Hale. Age: 22. Registered Mate: Genim “Stiles” Stilinski. Address: Beacon Hills Preserve, Beacon Hills, California._

Stiles was out the door and running before he had even registered the flash of the webcam going off. 

* * *

 

An alert on Derek’s phone startled the already unnerved werewolf. He opened up the app and felt his heart swell and stop at the same time. Stiles, his perfect, beautiful Stiles, was staring at him through the phone, eyes shining with unshed tears and the beginnings of a smile on his face. The _Werewolf Registration Alert_ app listed the date and time the picture had been taken along with the location. Derek was out the door and running, leaving the meeting he had called about Stiles in the dust.


	4. Pretty Fever Dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry! I've been fighting with this chapter since September! I wasn't really sure where I wanted this to go, but I figured it out and have set it up for six more chapters. I don't know how long it will take me to get those chapters out but I can promise you that I will do my best. Thank you so much for hanging in there and I hope you enjoy this chapter :)  
>  Bonus points if you can guess who mystery person is.

_“Mama,” Stiles asked as he followed his mother along a trail in the preserve, “why can’t D’rek and I sleep together? He has to wash the dishes for a whole week just ‘cause Peter found the two of us asleep!”Mud clung to his feet, a reminder of the storm the night before. Everyone knew Stiles had a fear of storms. He couldn’t understand why they were so against Derek comforting him._

_Stiles’ mother made a funny face, like she had eaten one of Laura’s “treats” (Stiles had been sick for a week after the last batch of cookies Laura made). “Well…when two people love each other very much-“_

_Stiles stopped walking, staring at his mother with wide eyes, “D’rek’s trying to have a baby with me?!”_

_Claudia’s face paled, and she moved to grab her son before he started running back towards the house, “Stiles, wait!”_

_“I’m too little to get p’egnant!”Stiles shouted out as he ran, “D’rek!”_

Two pairs of eyes watched the human on the bed writhe in a feverish haze. A sheen of sweat covered his forehead and one of the pair moved to wipe him clean with a towel. “I don’t know if he’ll make it,” the other one sighed, “I’ve never seen an infection get this bad this fast.”

The girl holding the towel narrowed her eyes to slits, “Probably a slave. They pump the poor things full of immune suppressants; the infection didn’t have to fight at all.” She rubbed at the miniscule wound on the human’s elbow, “A nick like this should never be able to do this. I bet he was one of the Argent’s.” She bent over to pet his face with a look of pity, “Poor thing must have never even noticed he was getting sick. We still don’t know if he hit his head, those library steps are solid stone, very unforgiving to fainting.”

The other figure opened their mouth to speak when the human let out a soft noise. The pair froze and the girl tilted her ear closer, silently willing him to speak again. The human tossed once, twice, three more times before speaking again, “D’rek.”

_A four year old clambered onto the big porch swing, an ice pack in hand and a sad look on his face. He handed the ice pack over to the eight year old beside him whose eye was sporting a fresh bruise. The two sat in silence until the bruise had almost yellowed before the four year old started talking, “I’m weally weally weally weally sowwy! Please don’t be mad!”_

_Derek sighed and pressed the ice pack to his face, trying to not let on to just how badly his eye hurt. He knew Stiles hadn’t meant to hit him in the face with the rock but it was a lunar eclipse tonight and Stiles knew to be more careful. Nearly everyone in the house had warned him that all the werewolves would be essentially human tonight. Derek flicked his gaze towards Stiles and let out a small gasp at the tear tracks on his face. Black-eye all but forgotten, Derek dropped the ice pack and tugged Stiles into a hug that would have crushed Stiles on any other occasion. “It’s okay, you just need to more careful. Please don’t cry anymore.”_

“Dammit, Kira, we’re losing him!”

The human had gone completely still, skin gaining a deathly pallor. His breaths were coming farther and farther apart and each one was shallower than the last. The two people rushed around him in a flurry of motion, both searching for some magic medicine to bring the boy back from the brink. In their frenzy, they failed to notice they ever slowing beats of the human’s heart beginning to cease. _Thump-thump…thump-thump…thump-thump,_ and then they shuddered to a halt. A suffocating air dragged searching arms back down, their quest futile. The human’s sight was leeched first, the people dancing behind his eyes fading into nothingness. Then he lost the feelings of warm summer sun and arms holding him close. Derek’s voice was the last to go, and Stiles chased it with all he had. As Kira settled the sheet over his head and the last precious syllables became mute, a howl like a thunder clap shook the cottage to its core and the tired heart leapt back into a mad dash towards consciousness.

Inside Stiles’ head, he remembered the world outside his dreams, the rolling bellow still rocking through his mind. He had beaten the slave system, the werewolves, and hell, he had beaten the Argents! The fire burning through his veins was just another foot in the door, and he was peeling at it one toe at a time.

_“I’m gonna call you Halestorm!” Derek only rolled his eyes and hoisted Stiles’ up onto his shoulders. The kid wobbled a little but clung to Derek just in time to catch himself. Stiles watched as the first firework exploded overhead. “Wow,” he whispered, drawing out the word like always, “this is so pretty! I love it!”_

_Derek shrugged in response, laughing when Stiles grumbled at being jostled, “It’s not nearly as pretty as you.”_

_“I think that works better on girls. I’m not ‘pposed to be pretty,” Stiles mumbled in between the explosions._

_“Well, I think you’re pretty so it works. So why are you gonna call me Halestorm?”_

_“Oh! It sounds like a storm when you growl, duh! Now shhhh and watch the fireworks, D’rek.” Like all good little werewolves, Derek listened to his mate and kept his eyes on the sky. It was only thanks to his iron will that he kept staring straight ahead when Stiles leaned down to giggle in his ear, “I think you’re the prettiest.”_


	5. Parallel Minds, Contrary Heartbeats

It felt like his heart was ripping itself out of his chest. He doubled over, gasping in anguish. The world faded to shades of gray. Anger washed over him like a tidal wave as he felt the precious, tenuous link between him and Stiles start to wither away. Pain, exhaustion, depression, hopelessness were all forced into Derek’s mind as death hooked a talon into Stiles and pulled. Echoing in Derek’s mind were the condolences and sympathetic apologies people had offered when he’d lost Stiles before, and he decided then and there that he would never hear another. Shaking off the pain, energy surged through Derek like a pure shot of caffeine, zapping and zinging under his skin and he planted newly formed paws onto the ground as a feral howl clawed its way out of his throat. Derek could feel Stiles’ heart pound in his own chest like a phantom, the perfect counterpoint to his own jackrabbit beats.  

Derek could _see_ the link tethering him to Stiles, a kaleidoscopic ribbon that was honestly the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. In a frenzied haze, he couldn’t truly understand what it was doing, just that if he followed it he would find Stiles.

Derek was off and sprinting before he’d even the presence of mind to realize he’d accomplished a complete shift.

It felt like someone had jumped his heart like a car battery. The darkness receded from his mind as though someone had flung open the curtains to a prismatic sunrise. Colors he had never imagined searing into his eyes in the best way. They all braided together into a rope where he could see each individual color yet they all blurred together in the same instant. It looked like a freshly strummed guitar chord, moving so quickly that you could only feel the vibrations instead of seeing them. Vibrantly forest green burned into his retinas when he looked up, verdant eyes staring into his own with a fierce determination.  So close, but so far away. Stiles grabbed that fluttering thread and _yanked_.

He was thrown back into his body, flames eating away at him from the inside out. Fear spiked and suddenly he was seeing ground flying under his paws. _‘I missed you,’_ was a rumble through his mind and he could feel his two bodies coming closer and closer, one body fighting to find the other when the other was just fighting to stay alive. Through the funeral pyre Stiles knew was his actual body he could hear two people scrambling and shouting, but through this unstoppable force he felt _alive_ , truly _alive._ A bright light was hitting this body’s eyes like a lighthouse, a beacon leading it home. He heard the smash of a wooden door through both bodies.

Then all hell broke loose.

* * *

Derek stared at the Kitsune crouched in front of Stiles. His gaze swung to the Banshee beside her and recognition flashed across his mind briefly.

_“D’rek, this is my best friend. Her name’s Lydia.”_

“Kira, you need to step back,” Lydia slowly backed away, eyes flickering between the human and the hulking black wolf as the puzzle completed itself in her mind. Her companion swung her head to stare at her in utter confusion. “I need you to trust me and step back.”

Derek prowled closer to Stiles as Kira straightened and took a few steps back. Derek moved forward and shifted back to reach out a hand towards the pale, unconscious human. His knuckles grazing across Stiles’ cheek hit him like a bolt of lightning to the chest. A soft and true smile scratched its way out of his furrowed brow as the unstoppable force bent to the will of the immovable object. Time slowed to a standstill as Derek memorized each rise and fall of Stiles’ chest, the tiny part of his lips, and the rhythm of his heartbeat

“Derek,” he heard Lydia call behind him, “Derek, Stiles is very sick and he needs medicine.” Out of the corner of his eye he could see her move forward with a small bottle. Instinct forced his hand to snatch the bottle from her grasp and to slice the flesh of his thumb and press his antibody riddled blood into the strange concoction. Tipping Stiles’ head back and poured the liquid down his throat, ignoring his sputtering until it all went down. The horrible smell of sickness and infection blew out in tandem to Stiles’ pupils. His eyelids sprang open, still unconscious but responding to the biological cure. The antibodies Derek possessed firing through his body at a mind-blowing speed.

Derek didn’t know when he had fallen to his knees, or when he had taken Stiles’ hand in his own, but he did know that it felt more right than anything had in years. He could hear Lydia talking in the distance, but all he could focus on was Stiles’ heartbeat and how it began to relax as the infection disappeared. He could feel himself holding Stiles’ hand in one part of his mind and holding his own hand in the other. A bright electric presence sat in his mind, growing as Stiles began to twitch with life. Whiskey eyes cracked open with the haze of the newly conscious and Derek found himself caught in a silence born of pure reverence.

It was like watching winter give way to spring. The cold dead things slowly fell to the forces of nature, and if Stiles wasn’t a force of nature than nothing was. His unceasing energy returned him in increments. Color flooded his body in the pink of cheeks, the red of his lips, the amber of his eyes; flowers of all manners of rose and azalea sprouted from the snow. It was a slow process until Derek blinked. Then Stiles was truly awake faster than snow melts.

Derek didn’t realize he had stopped breathing until he sighed in relief as recognition flashed across Stiles’ face.

“Derek?” His name came out creaky and hoarse and it sounded like a symphony.

Derek would never forgive himself for forgetting the speech he had practiced for when he finally found him again, but with Stiles staring at him and holding his hand all Derek could think to say was, “Yeah. I missed you.” Stiles reached forward to wipe away the tears Derek didn’t remember crying.

“Yeah,” Stiles whispered back, “you too.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idiots in love <3   
> I hope I did this right, I'm not really good with feelings. I feel like Stiles is really spring in the way he is so full of life after dealing with death and sadness. Maybe that's just me but oh well.   
> Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed!  
> This was written to "Where Did the Party Go" "Favorite Record" "Novocaine" and "Twin Skeletons (Hotel in NYC)" by Fall Out Boy.


	6. 20 Questions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry that I haven't updated in a while, but I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint!

Stiles really wasn’t sure what to expect when he finally met Derek. Fireworks? A symphony? Curly fries descending from the heavens? In truth, it felt like waking up from a long nap, and that was fitting, wasn’t it? There was this moment of awakening and then, a supernova of _Oh shit how did I get here_ and _Oh shit how did he get here._ Still, there were no explosive reactions, just whispered words and quiet tears and smiles so bittersweet they burned. As much as Stiles wanted to just accept the idea that he and Derek and magically found each other after all this time, he was still very confused as to how he had arrived at this small cottage in the middle of nowhere in the first place.  His last memories were jumbled and vaguely painful as they consisted of the stone steps of the library rushing up to greet him.

The two girls, Lydia and Kira, as he came to know, refused to answer any of his questions as they checked him over for any remaining problems. Derek kneeled steadfastly at the side of the bed and let the two women work around him, moving only slightly when asked. “That potion should have cleared up all of the infection,” Lydia explained as she checked Stiles’ pupils, “but we don’t want to take the risk that any of it is still lingering around. Your immune system is too weak to fight off the common cold, much less another inferno-level fever.” Stiles just nodded along, confused in more ways than he thought possible.

“I’m not trying to be rude or ungrateful, but how the hell did I get here,” Stiles asked and then pointed to Derek, “and how did he get here? Where is here exactly? And why do you,” he pointed an accusatory finger at Lydia, “look so damn familiar?”

Lydia smirked, “I wondered how long it would take to recognize me; you’re slower than I remember, Stilinski.”

“Lydia,” Derek growled.

Lydia simply rolled her eyes, “I know, no teasing the traumatized human. Let’s start off with your first question. What do you remember before you woke up?”

Stiles’ brow furrowed in concentration as he spoke, “I ran away from the Argent plantation,” Derek broke in with a low growl, “and made my way to a town called Beacon Hills surviving off of whatever I could find in the woods along the way. When I got to town I hid with a girl named Malia for a little while and she showed me how to find a library. I found Derek on the Werewolf Registry and saw that he was in the same town. I remember getting out of the library and the rest is all fuzzy.”

Kira filled in as Stiles’ memory fell off, “A few people saw you collapse and called for help, thankfully they forgot to check you for owner identification. I work as an EMT and was the first to arrive at the scene with Lydia in tow.”

“She had just picked me up to give me a lift to the hospital when she got the call, and seeing as I’m a doctor we thought it couldn’t hurt for me to tag along as well,” Lydia cut in.

Kira nodded in agreement before continuing, “You were burning up and barely breathing by the time we got there. You were unresponsive, and we were so busy trying to find some sort of injury that Lydia didn’t even recognize you until we went to check for some sort of brand or barcode.” Kira then motioned for Lydia to take over.

“When I first recognized you, I made Kira stop looking for an ID and had her load you into the ambulance. I wasn’t sure who you were exactly until Derek showed up, but I had feeling that taking you to the hospital was a death sentence. It was easy to tell from looking at you that you were already on the edge of death; I knew that if I didn’t get you somewhere safe where I could use every possible cure available to me that you would die-”

Stiles butted in, “Okay, you guys haven’t even mentioned what I was sick with. If I almost died, well, did die, then how did I not notice?”

“You sustained a small cut on your elbow, probably when you were running away from the Argents, and your clothes are covered in dirt, hence the infection. Humans already have weaker immune systems; slaves are highly susceptible to lethal diseases and infections. You didn’t notice because you probably attributed you exhaustion and any other symptoms to being on the run. Sound about right,” Lydia leveled Stiles with a look that dared him to argue. Stiles, of course, did not argue, and Lydia continued on, “You’ve been here for three days but you weren’t getting any better. I couldn’t give you the medicine you needed because your heart was too weak to handle anything that strong, and what medicine I could give you was worthless against that strong of an infection. Long story short: you died and miraculously came back to life. This wouldn’t have happened if Derek hadn’t been out searching for you three towns over.”

Derek finally deigned to speak then, voice quiet and distracted as he tried to remember what had happened from his side of the story, “I felt you die,” he said in a strangled voice, “in my head, I felt you die.” When Stiles’ sad, sweet eyes tried to meet his own, Derek quickly dropped his gaze to the blankets.

“You howled,” Stiles said, not sure if what he said made any sense, “I heard you howl and then I think I started seeing things out of your body and mine. It felt kind of like having two heart beats at the same time. Does…does that mean anything to you?”

Brow furrowed in thought, Derek stared down at his hands trying to remember what it was like and having his mind come up blank when suddenly, he remembered, “The rope.”

“What? What rope?” Stiles asked.

Derek finally met Stiles’ eyes, “There was the rope or string that I was following. It was attached to you.”

“Oh,” Stiles replied quietly, “Well, I guess we’ve got two out of four questions figured out.” He let out a short laugh that morphed into a yelp as Derek lifted him out of the bed without warning. “What are you doing?”

Derek smiled a private smile and kept walking towards the door in spite of Kira and Lydia’s protests. “I’m simply answering your third question.” The door opened to the outside and Stiles squinted against the harsh sunlight. “Welcome to the Beacon Hills Preserve.” Stiles’ eyes adjusted and his stomach dropped as his dreams sprang to life. Derek whispered in his ear, “Welcome home, Stiles.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These chapters are only gonna get longer and longer guys, so get ready!


End file.
